Outdoors

Casting nostalgia: Last week in April marks special occasion for anglers

I came across Michael Sowder’s poem Fishing for His Birthday several years ago, and it speaks to me. 

It reminds me of my early days as a young angler, stepping into the river with a fishing pole in hand and wading away from the bank. 

My well-worn “hand-me-down” fishing vest, inherited from Uncle John, was filled with every fishing memento and fly I owned.

“With adams, caddis, tricos, light cahills, blue-wing olives, royal coachmen, chartreuse trudes, green drakes, blue duns, black gnats, Nancy quills, Joe’s hoppers, yellow humpies, purple chutes, prince nymphs, pheasant tails, Eileen’s hare’s ears, telicos, flashbacks, Jennifer’s muddlers, Frank bugs, sow bugs, zug bugs, autumn splendors, woolly worms, black buggers, Kay’s gold zuddlers, clippers, tippet, floatant, spools of leader, tin shot, lead shot, hemostats, needle nose, rod, reel, vest, net, boots, cap, shades and waders, gortex shell and one bent Macanudo I wade in a swirl of May-colored water, cast a fine gray quill, the last tie of my father.”

— Excerpt from Fishing for His Birthday by Michael Sowder, poet and English professor at Utah State University

Family affair

Although my dad wasn’t much of a fisherman, he was a dedicated family man and a passionate educator, taking us and often our friends on fishing trips. 

I also benefited from a large family, including a grandfather who grew up in what was then a coastal wilderness, a true “hunter-gatherer” of the sea. My uncles, all WWII veterans, brought their skills as riflemen home, adding hunting to the family pastimes of fishing and enjoying the outdoors together.

Fishing was our go-to activity when the uncles said, “Game is scarce” or “the sun is too high.” We often spent more time fishing than hunting, and by my early teens, fishing became what I looked forward to the most. 

While I never disregarded hunting, I eagerly anticipated casting my Zebco reel on a red Shakespeare rod baited with worms, bright red salmon eggs, and that classic red-and-white bobber. The thrill of a trout bite brought me immense joy, a feeling that still fills my heart today.

By my mid-teens, I had mastered the skills to be a confident fisherman.

It wasn’t until adulthood, however, that I realized fishing was more than a hobby; it was about deep, meaningful values – respect for life, patience, and humility.

 Over the years, the lines of the traditional “trout season opener” have blurred, especially since we can now fish for trout year-round in Oregon. 

Updated regulations in the 1990s allowed for catch-and-release fishing on the McKenzie and Willamette rivers and numerous lakes in Lane County. 

Yet, the last weekend in April still marks a special occasion, feeling like “opening day.” Thanks to the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, 2.16 million trout will be spread across the state, each averaging about eleven inches. By the end of August, another 3 million will be added. 

Still, that initial abundance will never quite match the excitement of the last weekend in April.

Email: [email protected] 

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